Chapter 2 - THE WATCH THAT SHOULD NEVER HAVE RETURNED
Lily opened her picture book and pointed at a drawing of a rabbit wearing a blue coat.
"That's you, Mr. Grumpy."
Damien glanced at the illustration.
"That's a rabbit."
"Yes. But he looks grumpy."
"Then perhaps he reminds you of someone."
Lily giggled.
Damien began reading, stumbling through the exaggerated voices of the characters. For nearly twenty minutes, the most feared man in Chicago sat in his father's old chair while a three-year-old corrected his pronunciation.
When Elena appeared at the doorway, she stopped.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Vescari. She was supposed to be helping me fold laundry."
Damien closed the book.
"She can finish the story tomorrow."
Elena blinked.
"Tomorrow?"
"If she's interested."
Lily immediately raised both hands.
"I am!"
Damien almost smiled.
Then his phone vibrated.
The expression disappeared.
He glanced at the screen. A message from Harold waited.
The package has arrived, sir. I placed it in your study.
Damien looked toward the desk.
The wooden box.
The broken watch.
The warning.
He stood.
"Elena, please take Lily downstairs."
The change in his voice made her uneasy.
"Of course."
Lily climbed down from the chair and waved.
"Bye, Mr. Grumpy."
Damien watched them leave before locking the door.
He retrieved the box and examined the watch again.
Eleven forty-seven.
His father's accident had occurred at approximately midnight, according to the official police report. Damien had memorized every detail of that night, including the final telephone call he had received from his father.
But there was something strange about the watch.
He turned it over.
A tiny inscription had been scratched beneath the silver casing.
For my son. When the time comes, trust the one who remembers the rain.
Damien's breathing slowed.
He recognized the handwriting.
His father had written it.
A knock interrupted him.
"Come in."
Harold entered, carrying a document folder.
"Sir, there's something else."
Damien closed his hand around the watch.
"What?"
"The package was delivered by courier. The sender's information was deliberately removed. However, the security footage shows a vehicle entering through the east gate shortly before dawn."
"Who authorized it?"
Harold hesitated.
"Your uncle."
Damien looked up.
"Uncle Richard?"
"Yes, sir."
Richard Vescari was his father's younger brother. He had managed the family's finances for decades and currently served as Damien's senior adviser.
He was also one of the few people who had remained at the dinner table after the accident.
"Bring him to me."
"He's already here, sir."
As if summoned by the conversation, the study door opened.
Richard Vescari entered wearing a charcoal suit and a practiced smile.
At sixty-two, he had silver hair, expensive taste, and the calm expression of a man who believed he had earned the right to control everything around him.
"Damien. I heard something arrived."
Damien placed the wooden box on the desk.
"Recognize it?"
Richard glanced at the watch.
For a fraction of a second, his face changed.
Then he smiled.
"Your father's old watch. Where did you find it?"
"Someone sent it."
"How sentimental."
Damien studied him.
"Did you know it was missing?"
"Of course. We searched for it after the accident."
"And you never found it."
"Unfortunately not."
Damien unfolded the warning and pushed it across the desk.
Richard read it.
His expression remained composed.
"Someone wants to create trouble."
"Perhaps."
"Don't tell me you're taking this seriously."
Damien leaned back.
"Fifteen years ago, my father died. His watch disappeared. Now it returns with a message claiming someone in this house murdered him."
Richard sighed.
"Your father had enemies. You have enemies. That's what happens when a family becomes powerful."
"Who was the last person to see him alive?"
Richard's eyes narrowed.
"Why?"
"Answer the question."
"Your father was with me that evening."
The silence that followed was uncomfortable.
Damien looked directly at him.
"Then you should have nothing to fear from an investigation."
Richard placed the paper on the desk.
"Be careful, Damien. Grief makes intelligent men foolish."
After he left, Damien turned toward Harold.
"Find every record connected to the accident. Every payment, every telephone call, every employee who worked that night."
"Understood."
"And don't tell Richard."
Harold nodded.
But before he could leave, Damien stopped him.
"One more thing. Find out who delivered that package."
That evening, Elena noticed something unusual.
The mansion's senior housekeeper, Mrs. Whitmore, had been standing near the service entrance for several minutes, watching the staff corridor.
When Elena approached, the older woman quickly looked away.
"Is something wrong?"
"Nothing that concerns you."
Elena lowered her eyes and continued carrying the laundry basket.
But Mrs. Whitmore followed her.
"Your daughter spends a great deal of time with Mr. Vescari."
"He's been kind to her."
"Kindness from powerful men always has a price."
Elena stopped.
"What exactly are you suggesting?"
Mrs. Whitmore leaned closer.
"I'm suggesting that you remember your position."
Before Elena could answer, Lily appeared carrying a folded piece of paper.
"Mommy! I made another picture!"
Elena smiled despite the tension.
"That's lovely, sweetheart."
But Lily wasn't looking at her mother.
She was staring at Mrs. Whitmore.
The little girl pointed at the older woman's necklace.
"Mommy, that's the shiny thing from the bad room."
Mrs. Whitmore went completely still.
Elena frowned.
"What bad room, sweetheart?"
Lily pointed toward the eastern wing.
"The room with Grandpa's picture."
Mrs. Whitmore grabbed Lily's wrist.
"Children shouldn't invent stories."
Elena immediately pulled her daughter away.
"Don't touch her!"
Mrs. Whitmore released Lily.
Her face had turned pale.
That night, Elena tucked Lily into bed and asked about the room.
Lily yawned.
"The lady went inside. She was talking to the picture."
"What did she say?"
The little girl rubbed her eyes.
"She said the old man should have stayed dead."
Elena felt a chill move through her body.
Because the picture Lily described belonged to Damien's father.
And Mrs. Whitmore had worked at the Vescari mansion for twenty-eight years.
The next morning, Damien received an anonymous envelope containing a photograph.
It showed his father standing beside Richard and Mrs. Whitmore outside a hospital.
On the back, someone had written:
Ask what happened at 11:47.
May you like
And beneath those words was a second sentence.
The little girl has already seen too much.
